


Waltz

by Hexiva



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Canon Character of Color, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexiva/pseuds/Hexiva
Summary: After a mission to a swanky party at a ballroom, Felix asks James to dance.
Relationships: James Bond/Felix Leiter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> Another randomly generated prompt, "Leiter/Bond, dance." For MI6 Cafe's Rarepair February. I'm challenging myself to post a fic every day for February . . . I missed a couple of days, but here's another.

Leiter surveyed the ballroom from his comfortable spot near the bar, carefully keeping an eye on the suspect from across the room. David Morrington was one of the richest men in the international weapons trade - but the CIA suspected that he was also funding a myriad of terrorist organizations in numerous countries.

If their intel was correct, Morrington would soon be transferring a huge amount of money to an American terror group, arming them with enough money and weapons to plunge the U.S. into a second Civil War. It was Leiter’s duty to find out how and when, and stop it.

“Hello, Felix,” said a smooth, British voice next to him, and Leiter glanced up to see James Bond, clad in one of his elegant Tom Ford tuxedos, sliding into the bar stool next to him. 

“I didn’t know Britain was invited to the party today,” Leiter said, sipping his bourbon. 

“You know me, Felix, I never miss a party.” Bond sipped his martini. “Keeping an eye on Morrington?”

Leiter nodded, his eyes still on Morrington. “He’s funding instability in a dozen countries - starting shit to boost business.”

“And of course, the CIA can’t have that. Funding terrorist organizations to create instability is  _ your  _ job.” 

“Pot calling the kettle black, friend,” Leiter said, lifting his bourbon in a mock toast. 

Bond drained his martini and set it down on the bar between them. He studied Morrington for a moment. “It’s not him,” he said, flatly. “It was his wife. She was the one making deals on the side. And he didn’t suspect a thing, because he was utterly in love with her. I’ll make sure our chaps send the evidence over to your side of the pond.”

Leiter frowned. He trusted Bond’s intel implicitly. “Then we should keep an eye on her, instead. Before she makes contact.” He started scanning the crowd for her.

Bond stopped him, putting a hand down on Leiter’s wrist. “That won’t be necessary. I took care of it.” And he flicked his eyes down to his hand.

Leiter followed his gaze, and his eyes landed on a single crimson stain on the white cuff of Bond’s shirt, just showing under the edge of his jacket.

“Ah,” Leiter said.

“He’ll get the news soon,” Bond said, his eyes on Morrington. “Shot in a mugging on her way here . . . a random act of violence. There’ll be enough of her in one piece for an open-casket funeral, at least. I made sure of that.”

Leiter’s eyes flickered to Bond, who was still staring across the ballroom at the man he’d made a widower. He had known, from his first mission with Bond, that Bond’s job wasn’t quite like his own. Leiter carried a gun, of course, and he had used it on more than one occasion - but he was not an assassin. 

In the course of his long career, Leiter had known other men and women who did terrible things in the service of their countries. It had scarred them and shaped them all in one way or another. But Bond - Leiter wasn’t sure he’d ever known a man who wore the weight of his actions as heavily as Bond. There was something dead and empty in Bond’s pale blue eyes. Sometimes Leiter thought it was coldness, or cruelty. Other times, he thought it was despair.

Right now, as Bond ordered a second martini, his eyes were like chips of ice, and Leiter couldn’t bear to look at them. Bond reached for his glass to empty the second drink down, and Leiter put his hand over Bond’s. Bond looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Thanks to you, it looks like the rest of my night’s just cleared up,” Leiter said, softly. “Why don’t we have some fun?”

Bond tilted his head. “What did you have in mind?”

“A dance,” Leiter said, meeting Bond’s cold blue eyes. “You and me. They teach you how to dance at whatever fancy-ass British private school you went to?”

“Maybe,” Bond said, sipping his martini. He cast Leiter a sidelong, flirtatious glance. “But I’ve never danced with a man before. Not in public, at least. Who leads?”

Leiter grinned. “I’ll let you take the lead. You’ll find I have a lot of experience in . . . following.” 

Bond set his martini down, and stood. “And you haven’t even bought me a drink yet,” he said, offering Leiter his hand. 

Leiter chuckled. “After what happened at the Casino Royale, I think I’ve bought you a whole lifetime’s worth of drinks.”

They stepped out onto the dance floor, and Leiter let his free hand rest on Bond’s shoulder. Bond’s hand found its way to Leiter’s waist. The music swelled, and they started to move. Leiter met Bond’s eyes. As they danced together, he saw some of the humanity return to them, as Bond concentrated on keeping up with Leiter. A slight gleam of challenge came into his eyes as he realized how quick on his feet Leiter was. Once, he almost tripped, and Leiter chuckled at him.

“I should’ve worn taller shoes,” Bond quipped, spinning Leiter around as if to compensate. 

“I’m a bit taller than your regular partners, am I?” Leiter asked, smirking. 

“Just a bit,” Bond said, returning the smirk. “But you’re not bad at this.”

“Better than you,” Leiter said, teasing.

“We’ll see about  _ that,”  _ Bond said, and he dipped Leiter, forcing Leiter to hang on to his waist to support himself. “Where’d you learn to dance like this?” he asked. “Not a lot of old-fashioned posh boarding schools on your side of the pond, I imagine.”

Leiter smiled. “My dad used to take us to parties like this. We might not have dukes and barons in America . . . but the upper class is the same on both sides of the Atlantic. You?”

“Eton. Like you said. ‘Fancy-ass British private school.’” Bond mimicked Leiter’s American accent, and Leiter laughed. 

“So you  _ have  _ danced with a man before,” Leiter said. “Not a lot of girls at Eton.”

“Well, with a boy - I was thirteen at the time,” Bond said. They spun around, and Leiter noticed that Bond’s steps were clumsier, but his face seemed more animated. Less frozen, more human. “Not exactly a romantic setting.”

Now  _ that  _ was an interesting word. Leiter quirked an eyebrow, and smiled. “And this is?”

“It might be,” Bond said softly. “With the right company.”

“And if the right company presents itself?” Leiter asked.

Bond shrugged. “Then maybe our reports can wait.”

“You know what they say,” Leiter said. “All work and no play . . .”

“Is that what you have in mind?” Bond said, leaning close with a flirtatious gleam in his eye. “Play?”

“Something like that,” Leiter said, smirking.

The music came to an end, and around them, the dancers spun to a stop.

“Another dance?” Leiter asked.

Bond glanced at his watch, as if wondered when MI6 would expect him to report back. And then he looked back up at Leiter, and smiled. “Perhaps just one more.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please leave a comment!


End file.
